


Uxor Lucifera

by LittleMulattoKitten



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Anal Training, BDSM, Cunnilingus, Demon AU, Demon Sex, Dirty Talk, F/M, Hyperspermia (Basically), Kink, Knotting, Latin, Light BDSM, Oral Sex, Sex, Shower Sex, Soul Bond, Soulmates, minor bdsm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-18 17:42:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13686600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleMulattoKitten/pseuds/LittleMulattoKitten
Summary: “Listen, mate,” she started. “I don’t know who the fuck you are, or how the fuck you got into my flat, but you’ve got about two seconds to make your way through that door-” she pointed at the door she’d just entered through “-before I call the cops. After dealing with my cunt of a boss and Cormac and his creepy arsehole friends, I’ve had just about enough bullshite for one night, thanks. He’s being carted off to the hospital hopefully, go rob him.”Tomione. Smut. Demon Mate AU.





	Uxor Lucifera

Even though she sprinted from the office entrance through the parking lot and didn’t slow her pace until she reached her car, Hermione was soaked through twice over by the time she’d gotten in and shut the door.

A string of curses left her trembling lips. It just had to rain today of all days, didn’t it? Of course, the drops were bloody frigid as well. Perfect.

She didn’t even want to think about all the water soaking into her upholstery.

Even with her wipers on their highest speed setting, visibility was absolute shite the entire drive to her flat. The only blessing was that most of the other drivers with the misfortune to be out at this hour were just as impaired. She just hoped there wouldn’t be any fearless arses on the road to rear-end someone. The last thing the roads needed was a pileup. Not with the rain coming down too fast for it to properly get off the road with any sort of haste.

The drive took longer than usual, but Hermione breathed a sigh of relief when she pulled into the parking garage collision-free. She was in that partially dry, but still very thoroughly drenched state when she got out of the car. Her clothes were cold, sticking to her skin uncomfortably in places, and making her skin itch with irritation in others. Still, she grabbed her purse and her bag, thankful that she kept her laptop in a waterproof protective case inside her bag, as well as having similar water-resistant coverings for all of her folders and papers. Preparedness had saved her arse on more than one occasion, tonight included.

The ride up the elevator to her floor was uneventful, but Hermione wanted to sigh when she saw her shitty neighbor and his friends leaving his flat. A cloud of white smoke followed them, and at least two of them were clearly unsteady on their feet. She doubted weed was the only recreational drug they’d partaken in. Just as their alcohol consumption was obvious.

She walked towards her door, trying to ignore them, and fumbled for her keys with cold fingers.

“Oi, ‘ermione!” Cormac called. She rolled her eyes at her door.

If she could stop bloody shivering long enough to unlock her damn doors!

“Come to the pub with us, ‘Mione!” Cormac said, causing his pals to hoot and holler and grow bolder.

“Come on, luv!” they goaded.

“No thanks, gents,” she said impatiently, finally fitting her key in the door. She jumped when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

Cormac grinned at her, though it was much lazier and lopsided than the charming smile he probably thought he was sporting. “Come on, Hermione. Live a little.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I said no thank you. I’m busy.”

She tried to shrug him off, but he wouldn’t budge. Her heart rate picked up. “Cormac,” she said tersely. “Get off.”

“Nah…” he said. “I’ve a better idea.”

She reached up to push him away, panic lacing her veins, and felt her hand sting before she even managed to shove him. One glance at the pocket knife she’d cut herself on renewed her panicked efforts.

“I said get off,” she shouted, managing to make contact with his chest.

She wasn’t expecting him to get thrown backwards towards the railing of the stairwell. And she certainly hadn’t expected him to launch with enough force to flip over said railings.

“What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck,” she whispered under her breath. His friends all stumbled around the railing and looked down, as did she. Cormac was still breathing, but he’d landed at the base of the first flight of stairs and had fallen halfway down the second. He didn’t appear to be conscious.

Hermione jerkily made her way back towards her door after whisper-shouting at his stunned-and-stoned friends to call an ambulance.

She heard one of them whisper something about shared trip dreaming as she shut and bolted her door behind herself.

She looked down at her hand, the one covered in her blood, and sighed. She had no idea how the hell her simple shove had managed to throw a grown man that far away, or why, or if any of it was real, but if it was, she needed to dress her wound.

Maybe Harry was right and she worked too much.

Maybe she’d gotten into an accident on the way home and this was all a hallucination.

The sting of the water as she ran the kitchen tap over her wound suggested otherwise.

“Fucking hell,” she muttered as she loosely wrapped a paper towel over her hand and made her way towards the master bath.

She stopped short in her living room when she noticed a figure standing next to her balcony’s sliding glass door.

First she gets harassed in the hallway by her piece of shite neighbor and now there was some tall, dark haired, admittedly handsome burglar just…leaning against her wall casually?

“Listen, mate,” she started. “I don’t know who the fuck you are, or how the fuck you got into my flat, but you’ve got about two seconds to make your way through that door-” she pointed at the door she’d just entered through “-before I call the cops. After dealing with my cunt of a boss and Cormac and his creepy arsehole friends, I’ve had just about enough bullshite for one night, thanks. He’s being carted off to the hospital hopefully. Go rob him.”

She’d pulled her phone out of her pocket and into her good hand as she spoke, and had the emergency number dialed and ready to hit call. The stranger didn’t move.

“You’re hurt,” he said, and she was annoyed by how damn beautiful he sounded too. Since when were burglars attractive anyway?

“Not your problem, pal,” she growled. “Get the fuck out of my flat.”

She jumped and screamed when he went from across the room to inches from her in an instant. “Mother of Christ, how the fucking fuck did you just-”

He took her wounded hand in his, despite her attempts to move away from him, and snatched her phone.

“OI, cock head!” She tried to put distance between them, cursed his unreal reflexes, and failed to move away. All the while, he gently pulled the paper towel from her hand and frowned at the cut.

“This is why…” he murmured. “The one you called Cormac, are they how you came to be hurt?”

“Came to be…” she repeated, confused. “What fucking period drama did you crawl out of?”

“None,” he answered, his expression painfully earnest. “I didn’t crawl out of anything. I shifted.”

“I…wha…excuse me?”

“I think the human word is ‘Telephoning’.”

Despite how utterly befuddled she was by the situation she was now in, with some random bloke in her house examining her wounded hand after…whatever Cormac had been trying to do - she didn’t want to think very hard about just how far he’d have gone after pulling a bloody knife on her - Hermione found herself snickering. “Teleporting,” she corrected. “I assume that’s what you meant.”

“Yes, that one,” he said, but he was back to frowning at the cut on her hand. “You were attacked.”

“I…yeah…”

“And you defended yourself.” He sounded proud and it made her brows twitch upwards.

“I certainly tried to,” she said. “You ever gonna take a hike, mate, or…I dunno…explain what the hell you’re doing in my flat?”

His head lifted again and he blinked at her. “You performed magic,” he said, as if it was some simple thing she should’ve known. “I felt you and thus I came.”

“I shoved my creepy neighbor,” she said.

One of his brows ticked upwards. “Only shoved him?” he asked.

She fidgeted. “Listen, mate, I have no idea what’s going on tonight, or even if any of this is real. Can we cut the shite already? It's been a long enough day, so if you’d kindly show yourself out however the fuck you got in here, and leave me to patch myself up, that’d be grand.”

His lips twitched. “Hm…you’re fiery even after you’ve calmed down…”

Her eyes narrowed, but before she could say anything else or yell at him further, he continued.

“You’re under great stress tonight, and thus I doubt my words will be well received,” he began. “Rest assured, I am real. I am not here with ill intent, nor have I any wishes to harm you. I would, however, appreciate it if you showed me where you keep your medicinals. Your hand needs tending to.”

She blinked slowly. “It does…and I’ll deal with it as soon as you leave.”

“I’ll be doing no such thing,” he said, his expression twisting with distaste. “And leave you to potentially receive harm from this ‘Cormac’ individual again? Absolutely not.”

Hermione sputtered and stumbled over the beginnings to several sentences before finally settling on an exasperated, “Who the hell do you think you are?!”

He smiled and she blinked upon realizing that his eyes were a very dark blue. “Mortals have many names for me, though most of them actually belong to my brothers. Perhaps you can give me a fitting mortal name to go by instead?”

“I cannot believe- whatever. What’s your real name then, Captain Crackpot?” she asked, exasperated.

“Leviathan,” he answered, somewhat amused. “Although I think you’re more familiar with my brothers’ names. They’ve spent far more time in your world than I have.”

“Leviathan…” she repeated, then started to laugh. “Hallucination burglar is named after Satan. Car accident on the way home it is.”

He tilted his head at her in confusion. “Pardon?”

She shook her head. “Listen, Leviathan, I’m exhausted and this fever dream shite has gone on long enough. First aid kit is in the bathroom. Let’s wrap this up so I can ‘sleep’ and hopefully wake up somewhere logical in the morning.”

“If you insist…” he said, his voice unsure. “Perhaps while I patch you up you can think of a better mortal name for me.”

She snorted and led him to her bathroom. Somehow he managed to make it feel like he’d been doing the leading. Still, she sat on the lid of the toilet and let the devil take care of her hand.

“How about Tom,” she said, then giggled to herself. “Bible History would’ve been way more entertaining when I was at university if Satan had been named Tom.”

“I’m not him either,” said Leviathan. “He’s one of my more frustrating brothers.”

“Right, right,” she said. “There’s more than one of you. You mentioned that.”

“You’re quite tired, aren’t you?” he asked.

“Bit, yeah.”

“I’ll make sure you sleep undisturbed,” he vowed.

She giggled again. “Thanks, Sat-Leviathan.”

“My name amuses you?” he asked, gently dabbing the cut with a cotton ball she hadn’t seen him dampen. It stung when he touched it to the edge of her wound and she hissed as she tried to pull her hand away. “Be still,” he said gently. “It’s just saltwater.”

Where the hell had he gotten the salt? She squinted at the small paper cup, taken from the stack she used to rinse her mouth out while brushing her teeth, and tried to figure out what in her first aid kit would be saline in nature.

“Yes, your name amuses me,” she said eventually. “Where did you get the salt water?”

“You have a bottle of saline solution. It was unopened until just now,” he said. “I believe humans sometimes use it to treat respiratory issues.”

Ah. That explained it. “I forgot I had that,” she muttered. “Helps with your sinuses. I had a few upper respiratory and nasal infections back to back last year. Guess I had a spare bottle lying around still.”

“Fortunate you did,” he said. He’d put the cotton ball in the trash and had started tilting her hand this way and that in the light.

She realized the bathroom light was only one she’d turned on since entering the flat. Maybe if she turned more lights on she’d wake up.

Hermione sighed and started to doze while he gently covered her cut in antibiotic ointment and wrapped it in gauze.  He lifted her to her feet, despite her protests, and ushered her down the hall until he found her bedroom.

“You need rest,” he said after she dropped herself on top of her blankets. “But you cannot sleep as you are. Your clothes look terribly uncomfortable. I’ve never understood that about mortals.”

She squinted at him. His clothes hadn’t looked odd to her, but the light from the bathroom was bright enough in the dark flat to make its way down the hall to her bedroom. She could just make out his shirt and trousers, both appearing to be of a plain cotton or similar material, and agreed that his attire was more comfortable than her jeans and blouse. But she was too tired to change.

“Some mortals do not sleep with night clothes, as I understand it,” he said after she’d closed her eyes again. “Do you keep any?”

“Middle drawer,” she mumbled. “And there are some t-shirts in the closet that are too big for me.”

She must’ve fallen asleep for a moment, because she jumped when the bed dipped beside her.

“Let me change you,” he said.

She complied begrudgingly. If dream-Satan wanted to put her in pajamas, she hardly gave a damn.

She let out a soft moan of relief when, after patiently helping her out of her blouse, he made quick work of her bra. She thought she heard his own quiet sigh behind her.

“ _Amonea_ …” he murmured.

She was too tired to ask what that meant and barely had the will left to put her arms through the sleeves of the t-shirt he’d brought her. He said the word again when he slipped off her slacks, sensible wedge heels, and socks.

“You have softer under clothes in your drawers. Do you wish to wear them?”

She yawned before she could answer him, but tried to talk anyway. “The…blue ones. Shorts. Silver waist band…”

She was hardly any help when he slipped the simple black boyshorts she’d worn that day down and replaced them with the blue ladies briefs she’d asked for. If one of his hands lingered on her hip for a moment or two, she was too tired to notice.

The covers she’d flopped down on slipped out from under her and she groaned when the skin of her bare legs made contact with the cool sheets beneath, only to sigh and relax again when the blankets were laid over her.

Lips pressed against her temple. “Sleep well, _meus uxori_ ,” he whispered.

She hummed some sort of affirmative or tried to. “Thanks, Leviathan, even though I dunno what that means,” she mumbled. “I’m sad you’re not real, though. It’d be nice to have a friendly demon around sometimes.” Her sentence was accented with another yawn that stole the rest of her small burst of energy.

He chuckled, but sounded farther away, as if he were near the door. “Perhaps fate will be kind to me and you’ll carry that sentiment into the morning.”

She tried to respond again but was fully asleep before she could register whether she’d even managed another grunt of acknowledgment.

* * *

The first thing Hermione realized when she woke up the next morning was the pale overcast light pushing through the thin curtains over her windows. Then she noticed her hand, which was sore, and wouldn’t quite close all the way.

She squinted against the light long enough to make out the gauze wrapped around it.

How the… She forced herself to sit up and tried to make sense of the fuzzy memories from the night before.

Had she gotten such a vicious contact high from Cormac’s debauchery that she’d hallucinated a demon savior?

Being mindful of her wounded hand, she pushed herself to the edge of the bed and stood. Fatigue made her somewhat unsteady, but she managed to make her way to her bedroom door, which was cracked open a few inches, and felt a sense of unease when the scent of eggs and bacon drifted into the hallway.

There’s no way…

She quietly made her way down the hall and peaked around the corner into the kitchen. Tall, hot, and demonic had his back turned to her, giving her a completely unimpaired view of his arse.

She needed to find out where Cormac got his fixes from, but until them, she’d appreciate the hallucination she was presented with.

His clothes were simple, but finely made, and somewhat foreign. His shirt looked smooth and thin, but the fabric behaved like cotton. His trousers were similar, and his boots, while also of a thinner material, appeared leathery. She wondered how leather boots that might as well have been house shoes were effective. Even the soles, while thicker, seemed to be made of the same leather-like material. Still, the way his clothes loosely clung to his form meant she could watch him move around her kitchen with unnatural grace, without the restrictions of jeans or a normal t-shirt, and still admire everything from the muscles in his back to his arse to his calves.

Hermione wasn’t sure how long she stood in the hallway peaking around the wall, but eventually he moved to look through her cabinets for dishes and saw her out of the corner of his eye. He held her stare, his expression hardly changing except for the amused furrow in his brow, and she stayed still.

She hardly knew what to do with herself anyway. She’d never been high before.

“Did you sleep enough?” he asked her gently.

She shrugged and her silence seemed to amuse him further.

“You had a rather eventful evening,” he said, continuing his task of making breakfast without much care for her awkward lurking. Or her staring. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine, considering I’m still blitzed out of my mind,” she said slowly.

“Blitzed?” he repeated. “I don’t follow. Is that a way to describe your over-stressed state from last night?”

“Something like that,” she said.

He hummed. “I see. And your hand? I changed your bandages once while you were sleeping. It had mostly stopped bleeding when I put you to bed.”

“Sore,” she said, flexing it and wincing. “But fine I suppose.”

He switched off the burners, loaded eggs, bangers, bacon, and mash onto two plates, and wiped his hands off with one of her kitchen towels before coming over to her. “Let me see.”

She blushed when she realized she was still wearing an over-sized t-shirt, bra-less, and a pair of briefs, but was determined to not acknowledge her embarrassment. He turned her hand over a few times and gently ran his fingers over her bandages. “It’s inflamed, but not too much. I don’t smell blood, so it didn’t reopen while you were resting.”

She heard his voice, but had gotten distracted by his eyes. They were such an odd color. Dark blue, like sapphires. Definitely not real. A pang of loneliness made her frown. You knew your life was boring when you didn’t want to lose your imaginary demon companion.

“What hurts?”

She blinked and refocused on actually looking at him instead of just his irises. His calmness had shifted to worry. He was pretty when he pouted too.

“I’m fine,” she muttered. “It’s just gonna be really disappointing when this high wears off.”

He squinted at her briefly. “You still think I’m an illusion?”

She snorted softly. “I know you are, mate.”

He frowned. “What might I do to convince you otherwise?”

She mimicked the expression. “How am I supposed to answer that? This is a dream, or a hallucination, or…something. There’s nothing stopping you from being capable of doing anything I say.”

The regarded one another in silence for several moments, with him holding her wounded hand in his the entire time.

“You cannot feel pain in dreams,” he said quietly. “You said your hand was sore.”

“Touche. But I know I inhaled a fair bit of whatever Cormac and his pals were smoking last night. I dunno if dream rules apply to being high,” she said with a shrug.

“You’re bewildering,” he said. “But also clever and delightfully atypical.”

Hermione didn’t know how to respond to such an odd compliment, but before she could attempt the feat, he’d covered her mouth with his own.

Dream-demon had soft lips and strong arms that circled her waist to pull her closer.

She was in the process of trying to memorize a note to self - get the name and pricing of Cormac’s dealer - when Leviathan bit her lip hard enough for her to jerk backwards.

“Oi!” she complained, licking the sore spot and pouting at him. “What gives? That hurt!”

But he was giving her a patiently pointed look with his dark blue eyes. “ _Amasie_ , you weren’t exposed to enough the substances polluting the hallways to have pain-numbing side effects. You can feel your hand. Your lip stung just now.”

She stared at him while her brain worked furiously. He’d certainly felt real. The heat singing in her veins from his kiss certainly felt real. The breakfast he’d made smelled real.

“You expect me to believe that a demon appeared in my flat last night, patched up my hand, made me breakfast, and snogged me, quite skillfully, without me being high and or hallucinating in some way?” she asked.

His lips twitched into a small smile. “‘Quite skillfully’” he echoed. “Does that mean I can hope for the privilege of showing my affection again?”

“I, uh, what…” she stuttered. “I-look, I’m still not convinced this is real, but I’m going to feel really damn sorry for myself if I snog or fuck some annoyingly sexy devil-incarnate and it's not real, so I just- maybe-I don’t know-”

His expression darkened while she rambled, and it did nothing to help the effect he’d caused before he bit her lip.

“And how would you feel if it was real?” he asked, his voice a low purr that went straight through her bloodstream and woke up her erogenous zones.

“Um,” she mumbled. “Prob…probably confused and more than a little overwhelmed but also maybe…just a little…curious…”

“ _Perfectum_ ,” he murmured.

He’d stepped closer while she stumbled over her words and brushed their noses together. She cursed her flaming cheeks and the low purring sound coming from his chest that was unbearably distracting.

“Do I feel real now?” he asked, his lips hovering over hers.

“Quite,” she squeaked.

He chuckled and the purring noise grew louder before his hands came to rest at her hips. “I will gladly take care of your desires, _mea Eoi_ , but I could not forgive myself if I exhausted you further. Once we’ve broken our fasts, I’m yours. And while we eat, I can attempt to answer some of your inquiries from last night.”

She swallowed and tried to steady her breathing. “Um…food,” she muttered, quickly recalling that she’d watched him make their breakfast. “That uh-sure…”

With another chuckle, he briefly pressed his lips to hers but didn’t let her distract him further. “You are more perfect than I ever dreamed you would be,” he said, stepping away and holding a hand out to her in invitation. “Come.”

“I’d fucking love to, mate,” she muttered under her breath.

“Patience, _Amasie_ ,” he said, his voice a mix of scolding and entertained. “I have waited lifetimes for you, but I’ll stand a few moments more to be sure you’re well enough to receive me.”

He’d started tugging her towards the kitchen while he spoke, and thus missed her eyebrows’ surprised ascent.

_Receive…Christ have mercy._

Nothing about breakfast served to snap her out of her hormonal stupor, at least not until they sat down and she actually paid attention to her plate again.

Leviathan gave her an odd look when she started giggling around a bite of mash.

“You’ll choke if you’re not careful,” he said.

She almost spat out her food. After managing to swallow the bite she’d taken - without choking - she put her face in her hands and laughed freely, if not somewhat hysterically. “I’m not dreaming, am I?” she asked when she caught her breath.

“No,” he said, watching her with those amused brows and dark blue eyes. “Although I think I’ve discovered how I might prove the fact.”

Her mouth went dry. “Yeah?” she asked, damning her voice for wavering on the word. “Care to share?”

Leviathan smirked and took another bite of his food, seeming for all the world to be entirely unbothered. Her antithesis. “I think I’d rather watch your thoughts run rampant, _Amasie_. Your cheeks are a delightful shade. I wonder where else has taken on the hue.”

“Oh…oh _fuck_ ,” she said.

“Yes, my clever one,” said Leviathan. “I plan to. You’ll have to let me know if my skills retain their quality, but first, you must eat.”

“I’m gonna feel like a really…really sorry piece of shite if I wake up in the middle of this and you weren’t real after all,” she said.

“I’m not going anywhere, _meus uxori_ ,” he said. “And I wish to have you just as passionately as you wish to have me. But you wanted to know how I came to be here. I think it might be best to handle those things now, so we can enjoy ourselves undisturbed, yes?”

“Yes please,” she said quickly, and obligingly resumed eating before her hormones could run away with her again.

Leviathan smiled. “Is there anywhere specific you’d like me to begin?”

Hermione chewed for a moment and shrugged. “I think you tried to tell me magic was real last night…”

He nodded. “Yes. I believe when you cut your hand, your blood served as a conduit, so when you went to protect yourself, your magic managed to rise up and be useful instead of dormant.”

She stared at him. “Magic isn’t real.”

“It is,” he said patiently. “You’re what my people call an _Aurora Uxor_ or _Uxor Lucifera_. A mortal born wife of a prince of…what’s your word for my domain? The underworld?”

“Underworld, Hell, Hades,” she said. “We’ve got a lot of names for Hell. Depends on the religion.”

“We call it _Vesperis_ ,” he said. The realm of the evening star in your tongue, I believe.”

Hermione gave him a look. “Realm of the evening star, but most of the names for…you said you had brothers? Don’t your names all mean ‘morning star’”

He nodded and she got the distinct sense he was proud of her for some reason. “For the most part, yes. Morning stars for hope, vitality, and prosperity. Evening star for safety, especially when sleeping. Land-dwellers protected by the sky at all hours.”

She nodded and felt like she was sort of keeping up with him. “So…what does this have to do with marriage?”

Leviathan tilted his head. “I forget that mortals have so many different tiers and ranks for their dear ones. You bind yourselves to one another through ceremonies and rites of passage, yes? My brother’s and I are bound by magic to our ‘brides’. I cannot recall the mortal terminology that fits my meaning exactly… It is not a political or legal arrangement, per say…”

“Like a…” she hesitated, “a soul mate or something?”

“Yes! Those are the words, I believe. Though souls are much trickier things than magic. It would be terribly unstable to bind two fated beings together that way,” he said. “But yes. We cannot find our aurora uxor until their magic manifests in some way. Yours manifested last night, so I shifted to where I felt you. You were just coming through the door when I appeared here.”

Hermione swallowed uncomfortably and put her fork down, appetite mostly gone. “So I…I did make Cormac go flying?” she asked. “I wasn’t trying to hurt him, I just wanted him to get the hell away from me…”

“He’s alive,” said Leviathan. “Though I think nature is being too kind to him. I heard some of his friends speaking with the medical professionals you mentioned last night. They were all, what did you call it, blitzed out of their minds? And were convinced that their entire memory of the event was imagined. Even the foolish one, Cormac, was muttering about how he must’ve done too much of something and fallen down the stairs when they carted him off. No one said a word about you, from what I could tell…” He paused briefly and frowned. “Though you’ve yet to tell me your given name, so I can’t be certain.”

She blinked and blushed. To think she’d wanted to jump the man, demon, whatever, in the hallway and she hadn’t even introduced herself. “Hermione,” she said shyly. “My name is Hermione.”

His lips turned into an innocent, almost child-like smile. “A daughter of Hermes,” he said. “An emissary and a trickster…”

“I wouldn’t say a trickster,” she said carefully.

One of his brows rose. “You certainly seemed mischievous in the hallway.”

She glanced down at her plate, cheeks aflame. “S’not every day a hotty totty demon kisses a gal, is it?” she mumbled under her breath.

“It can certainly become a commonality,” he said. “If you wish.”

“I…um.” She didn’t want to make a fool of herself and admit just how much she wished. “How…will this work, then? If I’m your…uxor-whatever?”

“It would be best for us to be separated as seldom as possible, especially while your magic continues to grow and mature,” he said. “I have no qualms about staying here, so you can continue with your affairs as they are.”

“So…like…you’d move in?” she asked dumbly.

“I’ll secure lodging where ever need be to stay near to you,” he said. “Whether that be here or elsewhere.”

She had room, she supposed. Especially if this whole demon husband thing meant demon husband fidelity… Her bed was plenty big enough and she had a guest room if sharing a bed became awkward…

“You can…stay here, I suppose,” she said after a moment. “It’s just me…”

His expression tightened slightly, but with what emotion, she couldn’t decipher. “I noticed,” he said gently. “I also noticed you aren’t exactly pleased with your solitude, something I hope you will let me take care of.”

“And I…get a magic boyfriend…just like that?” she said slowly. “Where’s the catch?”

He tilted his head to the side. “Coming into your magic isn’t always an easy transition. That’s the primary downside to this situation, I believe.”

Hermione stared at him. “I get _superpowers_ and a _magic boyfriend_ …just…like…that…”

His bewilderment was clear. “I…suppose so?”

She shook her head a few times to clear it and took a bite of bacon. “I’m never going to rationalize this, so I’m gonna try something that’s entirely against my nature and just go with it.”

“You are reassured, then?” he asked. “Many of my brothers’ wives handled their transitions much less…gracefully. I expected much more resistance, truthfully.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “I have a job that bores me to tears, a shite boss, a shite neighbor, and my friends try, but frankly I don’t have much in common with them aside from the fact that we all went to school together. I’m not going to complain about a strong, sexy, magical demon or whatever you are showing up at my house and making me a delicious breakfast with a side of sexual promise. That’d be ungrateful. I’ll take my miracles in stride, thank you.”

He started to chuckle, low at first then louder, and she watched him lose himself briefly while she continued eating. When he calmed down enough to wipe a stray tear from his eye, he gave her the single most affectionate expression she’d ever been on the receiving end of. “I could not have imagined you being any more perfect than you are, Hermione,” he said tenderly. “Eat, _Amasie_. We have much to learn about one another, and I’d hoped to start my exploration by finding out where else you blush when you think about loving me.”

Her cheeks tingled and she tried to focus on finishing her breakfast without making a fool of herself. “This is really good,” she managed to say after a few more bites. “Thank you.”

When he didn’t say anything she glanced up and found him smiling down at his own breakfast. He might as well have been preening.

“Do you…cook often?” she asked hesitantly.

“It’s a pass time I enjoy,” he said vaguely. “Some of your ingredients looked familiar, so I experimented while you slept.” He turned to her, his curiosity earnest. “I think it has become less common for women to learn the culinary arts in mortal societies in the last few centuries, yes?”

“Yeah,” she said. “I can follow a recipe, but that’s about it. I couldn’t make a dish from scratch or anything. Not my skill set.”

Leviathan hummed thoughtfully. “What would you consider part of your ‘skill set’”

She felt her expression falter. “Nothing noteworthy,” she said quietly. “I like to read and learn but…well, my strengths aren’t exactly interesting to most people.”

“I’m interested,” he said. “For millennia I have tried to imagine how you would look, sound, taste, and smell. While my brothers found and learned their _amantes_ , I wondered what filled your days, who you spent your time with, and who was in my place beside you at night… You interest me, _mea Eoi_.”

She swallowed, set her fork down, and pushed her mostly finished food away. “Usually, no one is um…‘beside me’,” she admitted, bravely meeting his gaze despite her embarrassment. “The few relationships I have had weren’t exactly…ah…”

She didn’t notice his empty plate until he stood and offered her his hand. She took it, and once she was on her feet, he gently tugged her against him.

“Your previous lovers were…lackluster?” he asked gently, sounding unsure.

“That’s the right word,” she muttered. “I think it was more of an issue of thinking I was, t’be honest.”

He hummed, his opinion on the matter audibly contrary to hers, and was quiet for several moments. “Bathe with me?” he asked. “I can still smell rainwater on your skin. Perhaps I should have cleaned you up more before putting you to bed last night…”

“I was…very out of it,” she said, hoping to soothe him. “Sleep was probably safer.” After thinking for a moment, she asked, “Did you dry my hair while I was asleep?”

Her pillow hadn’t been damp when she woke up, nor was her hair stuck together in places as if it had dried on its own. It was frizzier, but nothing like she expected after her shower-by-storm the night before.

“I did,” he said. “You might’ve caught ill.”

She smiled against his shoulder. Thoughtful demon husband with somewhat-broken English was sweet.

“A shower would be nice,” she told him, her cheeks heating again. “I think you’ve already seen me mostly naked…” And she certainly wouldn’t mind going tit for tat on that one.

He leaned back to meet her gaze, dark eyes swimming with promise. “Not in the light,” he said quietly. “Though you were perfectly lovely in the shadows.”

She led him to the bathroom instead of answering, certain that her cheeks would melt off if she tried. His curiosity was as endearing as his baffling devotion, and she was amazed when he listened intently while she explained how the showers worked without magic.

“I’ve never seen such a thing,” he said, eying the shower-head with wonder. “We have charms in the ceilings of bathing areas that allow water to fall into tub basins, much like this-” he motioned to her bathtub, “but mortals had only learned to pump water into baths last time I visited this world. Fascinating.”

“Did the stove confuse you this morning?” she asked. He’d seemed perfectly comfortable when she found him in the kitchen earlier.

“At first,” he said. “But the little prints by the dials helped. I wanted to ask you where the heat came from if there were no open flames.”

“Conduction,” she said, reading into the shower to check the temperature of the water. Toasty. “Electricity is conducted through metals that can withstand and transfer the heat.”

When she turned back towards him, he was giving her the affectionate stare he’ given her at the table. “So clever,” he said. “My _aurora uxor_ is as brilliant as she is beautiful. My fortune knows no bounds.”

“Shower is ready,” she said quickly.

He tilted his head at her. “You’ve gone coy again, _Amasie_.”

“I don’t know what to do with compliments,” she muttered.

He frowned and stepped forward, closing the small distance between them in her en-suite. “You absorb them,” he said, bringing one hand up to cup her cheek and letting his thumb chase the blush over her cheekbone. “And let them shine outward so that those with poor vision may see what _I_ see with ease.”

“Did demon secondary school come with romance lessons? Mandatory poetry workshops?” she asked, trying to distract herself from the feel of his hand on her skin.

He smiled. “No. But literature was something I studied extensively. I’ve read very little mortal material though.”

“I can recommend some things,” she said.

“After our _shower_?” he asked, testing the word.

She couldn’t find her voice, so she just nodded.

Leviathan started quietly purring again and leaned down to nuzzle the space between her neck and shoulder. “May I have the honors of washing you, _Amasie_?”

She’d inhaled when his nose touched her skin, but that sharp intake of breath was enough to catch his scent mixed with the steam quickly filling the air around them. He smelled like autumn - Cinnamon and smoke and, thanks to the shower, like rain as well. She leaned into him, drank him in, and relaxed as the edges of her mind softened with fuzziness.

“You smell nice,” she murmured against his shoulder.

He hummed against her neck. “As do you… Do you feel that, _Amasie_?” he asked.

“The fuzzy feeling?” she asked.

He chuckled. “Yes. The _fuzzy feeling_. That is your magic recognizing mine. That’s why you’ve relaxed so suddenly, why you’re content being so near when before you were anxious. Revel in it, _Amasie_. Let it guide you.”

“Shower,” she reminded him.

His arms, snugly wrapped around her waist, moved to the hem of her too-big nightshirt. He took his time dragging the material upwards, letting his hands rest at her hips for a brief, appreciative moment before gently pulling the material over her head. She lifted her arms obligingly, trying to ignore her sudden shyness, and reached for his shirt to return the favor.

The timbre of his purring changed as she took him in and her eyes raked over the hints of ink on his shoulders and around his torso.

“You like what you see,” he said. His words were assured. Pleased. “Your thoughts are going in circles, I can see them clouding behind your eyes. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“I didn’t really think about tattoos as being sexy until now,” she whispered. One shaking hand rose up to allow trembling fingers to trace one of the dark lines. But all touching his skin made her acutely aware of was how taught his muscles were. Maybe he was chronically stressed, but her instincts made her feel very small as she brushed her fingers over his skin. She was prey. And the predator before her was poised to strike.

“You’re very strong,” she noted.

“This pleases you,” he said. She shivered when he started slipping his thumbs under the waistband of her briefs. “I’d like to please you further.”

Words failed her, so she nodded, trying to keep her reaction measured and failing. Whether it was magic or desperation muting her shyness, she wasn’t sure. He’d dropped to his knees, halting her thoughts from spiraling with anxiety, and took her briefs down to the floor with him. His warm hand against her stomach guided her backward as he stood.

“Get under the water,” he commanded, his voice low but sure.

She stepped back into the shower stall blindly, not wanting to take her eyes off him. He noticed, of course, which only served to please him further. His eyes raked over her, hungry and appreciative, as the spray of hot water stole the volume from her curls. Hermione was very glad her last waxing appointment had only been four days prior.

“ _Gaza meum_ ,” he murmured as he reached out and brushed his thumb over her smooth skin. She trembled at his touch. His thumb was dry and her skin was damp from the water. Such a simple contrast shouldn’t have made her squirm.

If he moved just a smidge lower, he’d find an entirely different sort of dampness.

He stepped back instead of heeding her silent plea. Her complaints died on her tongue when he dropped his trousers and joined her in the shower with a determined gleam in his eyes. He’d moved too quickly for her to admire him properly, pushing her against the shower wall without warning. He swallowed her squeak of surprise by covering her mouth with his and she sighed. The fuzzy warmth from before was being stirred by a much more nagging heat between her thighs. It made her feel brave. Especially when Leviathan used his hips to help keep her pinned to the wall so his hands could bury into her curls, effectively trapping his steadily hardening erection against her hip.

Compared to the few exes of her past, he felt too thick. The very lonely side of her mind worried that he wouldn’t fit, even as heat stirred inside her, but her logical mind knew better. She knew enough about male anatomy to classify him as a bit above average, but he hardly fit the absurd descriptions she’d read in romance novels. Though she was slightly relieved to find that real magical lovers could have impressive and mildly intimidating… _equipment_ without leaving the spectrum of normal. Still, his girth was more than she’d ever experienced first hand. She squirmed at the thought of him slipping inside her while his tongue slipped between her lips. Fuzzy magic outweighed her shyness, so didn’t hesitate to brush her right thumb down as much of his length as she could with it trapped between their bodies.

The fuzz in her mind made her think about it. She wanted to touch it more, stroke it, play with it, _taste_ it-

“I want you in my mouth,” she murmured against his lips. She imagined looking up at him from her knees and shivered. Her next words weren’t wholly her own, but laced with the magic he’d told her to trust, “I want to choke on it.”

The purring coming from his chest stuttered once, then changed pitch and lowered into a growl that made her whimper. She tried to press her thighs together, something his hands quickly left her hair to prevent her from doing.

He gave her a quick, smoldering look as his lips left hers. Before she could reiterate the plea, he’d dropped down and pressed a kiss to her navel.

“Le-Leviathan?” she began, just as he covered her clit with his mouth, destroying her capacity for speech.

He snaked his arms under her legs, gripping her waist before she could lose her balance. A garbled squeal left her throat when he lifted her thighs onto his shoulders, his mouth never leaving her. She started to let out a moan that built low in her throat until she remembered she had neighbors.

Leviathan growled, an annoyed warning, when she bit her lip to try and stay quiet. The vibration pulled another strangled sound from her, causing her to clamp her hands over her mouth.

“No, _Amasie_ ,” he said. “Let me hear you.”

“My neighbors,” she whined from behind her hands.

He nipped the inside of her thigh as one of his hands left her hip in favor of laying flat against the wall. She’d marvel at how inconsequential her weight was to him later.

A blue glow started from behind her and spread out along the walls. It reminded her of how water reflected light against surfaces, flowing and alive, though whatever the light was also scared her. Her panicked gaze flicked down to the man between her legs, only to find his eyes glowing the same deep, vibrant blue as the light on the walls.

“Now no one can partake in what’s mine to hear,” he said once the walls, ceiling, and floor were shrouded in blue.

“What was that?” she asked, breathless.

“Magic, of course,” he answered. He kissed the spot he’d nipped before giving the same gentle affection to her folds. “A sound barrier to be exact. No one outside of this room will hear you now.”

“Oh,” she squeaked, only to cry out a moment later when he thrust his tongue inside her.

He purred, replacing his tongue with two confident fingers as he resumed sucking her clit. The steady rumble against her skin made her eyes roll.

“Gods alive,” she breathed. “ _Please_.”

“There are no gods here, _Amasie_ ,” he said. “Only you and I.”

She groaned as he pumped his fingers in and out of her with a measured rhythm. She tried, in vain, to help increase his pace, but he only smiled at her efforts.

A foreign sort of fire lit its way up her back when he stood and let her legs fall to his waist. The fire burned hotter when his fingers left her in favor of gripping her hips. And it seemed to echo in his eyes when she glared at him.

“There’s my girl,” he said. “Eager and angry. Magic stirring. Breathless. _Amonea_.”

“You’re a tease,” she growled as gentle lips pressed against her neck.

The smirk he gave her made her want to scream. “Am I not meant to wash you before I ravish you?” he asked. Innocence did not suit him. “We came in here with a goal in mind, did we not?”

A low, threatening laugh left her as the fire burned hotter. “Oh you’re _definitely_ a Tom,” she hissed. “I’ve never met a Tom who wasn’t a smug prick.”

“And I never imagined your magic would be provoked by withholding sexual stimulus,” he taunted. “Yet I can taste you on my tongue and taste your magic in the steam.”

“ _Leviathan_ ,” she warned.

He chuckled again. “I’ll make quick work of washing you this time,” he promised. “I can be leisurely another day. And if you are still cross with me after your clean…” He trailed off long enough for Hermione to note the blood rushing through her ears matched her pulse throbbing between her legs. “Well, I’ll need washing too, won’t I, _Amasie_?”

Her lips curled and the fire she couldn’t name flared. The fuzzy feeling from before blurred her vision for a moment, but only a moment. It cleared when she blinked, just in time for her to watch his eyes dilate wider.

“Yes, you will,” she agreed quietly, reaching for the sponge hanging from the shower head. Then the soap. Leviathan’s stillness only inspired her to toy with him further.

_Two can play this game._

A generous dollop of liquid body wash was poured onto the sponge. Leviathan watched her fingers as she made a point to molest the innocent bath accessory until it, and her hands were covered in suds. If streams of thick white lather were running down her arms, well, they were just a fortunate side effect.

A small smirk tugged at Leviathan’s lips. “Coy or brazen, you, _Amasie_ , are a delight,” he said.

Hermione offered him the sponge with a raised brow and a slight tilt of her head. “You wanted the honors,” she said innocently.

She tried to be headstrong, to hold his gaze defiantly as he took the sponge and slowly ran it over her shoulders, between her collarbones, and over each breast. But when he took his time kneading and sudsing each breast in turn, her eyes fluttered shut with a sigh.

He pulled them more directly under the spray and watched the water rinse the soap down her torso. A wistful sigh left his lips.

“I would play with these,” he said, “but I promised to be quick.”

She hummed as he lathered her navel, hips, and kneeled to wash her legs. “You can play with them in bed,” she murmured.

“Oh I shall.” He chuckled as he ran the sponge down her shins and calves. “I wasn’t going to ask permission for that, _Amasie_. I’m going to finish washing you, and once you have had your fun washing me, I’m taking you to bed.”

He stood, a smile on his face, and passed her the sponge. “Your turn.”

She stood on her tiptoes to press her lips to the hollow of his throat while she washed his shoulders, then his chest. She purposefully ignored his erection as she crouched and ran the sponge down his legs, even as her nails gently scraped the inside of his thighs. He growled at her teasing.

His eyes were glowing again when she peeked at him through her lashes.

“Not so fun now, is it?” she asked him.

His smirk was strained, like his voice. “Oh it’s plenty fun, _Amasie_. It is merely difficult not to change plans.”

Her confusion must’ve shown because he chuckled lowly. “I planned to take you to bed, but I’m weighing the merits of taking you here…on the shower floor…”

Her mouth went dry as her hands stilled resting on his ankles. His smirk widened and her eyes were drawn to the cock inches from her face. He must’ve realized the same thing she did because her eyes were drawn downward when it twitched, as if it were beckoning her closer.

The hand he fisted in her hair when she leaned forward to follow her impulse, however, and the sharp tug backward it gave her, was less inviting.

“The first time I spill my seed inside you, it should go where it rightfully belongs,” he said, his voice low. “Your greedy mouth can wait its turn.”

His words ground her brain to a screeching halt, in part because of his effortless confidence. The rest of the effect came from the words themselves.

No one had ever spoken to her like that before.

She liked it.

With the fuzz and the fire guiding her already mischievous instincts, she leaned forward just enough to lick the tip of his cock. It wasn’t until after the salty bead of pre-cum hit her tongue that she realized he’d let her.

The glare angled at her made her shudder. There was promise in his eyes, but of what, she wasn’t fully certain. All she knew it that she’d be on her back, either in the shower or on her bed, very very soon.

His grip on her roots became wince-worthy as he pulled, forcing her to stand. He leaned down so they were nose to nose before loosening his grip slightly.

“Wash me,” he commanded. “This floor isn’t soft enough and my control is running thin. You’re unmanning me, _Amasie_ , with your magic and those trickster eyes of yours.”

Her hands, still soapy from the sponge she’d abandoned on the shower floor, were shaking as they wrapped around his length. Her hands were between them, and Leviathan had left just enough space for her to finish her task but forced her eyes to stay on his. She moved her arm so the water running over her shoulder would flow down to her fingers and rinse him clean.

“All done,” she whispered. “I think we forgot to grab towels…”

He hummed and reached a hand towards the shower door. One of her fluffy light grey towels appeared out of thin air.

“Turn off the water.”

Hermione complied without hesitation but was surprised when he draped the towel over her head and shoulders before summoning another one for himself. And while she managed to start drying herself, he touched her hair affectionately.

A warm sensation washed over her scalp and followed the length of her tresses. She blinked in surprise when he ran his fingers through her hair without getting caught on any tangles. He’d have to teach her how to do that.

“Bed?” she asked, watching him wrap his towel around his waist with a measure of disappointment.

He kissed her lightly as he pulled the shower door open. “Bed, _Amasie_.”

She was a step ahead of him as they returned to her bedroom. So when his towel sailed over her head, landed on her duvet, and stretched itself out flat, she was confused. She frowned at it and turned around just in time to catch an eyeful of naked, beautiful demon before he brushed their noses together and rested his hand against her navel affectionately.

He was giving her one of his adoring looks again. She returned it with a small smile.

A smile he promptly wiped off her face when he pushed her, only instead of falling backward, she landed on the bed atop his towel as if she’d been dropped on it. It took her a moment to recover from the shock of whatever bit of magic he’d used, which was long enough for Leviathan to climb on top of her.

“You are mine,” he said. “Just as I am yours…”

Her breaths shortened as he positioned himself at her entrance before kissing her chastely.

“Relax,” he said softly. “We were built to satisfy one another. You can receive me, of that I have no fear, but this will be far different than your past experiences for a multitude of reasons. Namely, that you will feel very…full.” She blinked and squirmed under him. “You will get used to it over time, but our first several couplings will undoubtedly be a bit…shall we say overwhelmingly for both of us.”

“Okay…” Hermione said, sounding unsure even to her own ears.

He kissed her again, more thoroughly this time. “I will be as gentle as I can, but you must tell me if it’s not enough. We have all the time in the world, _Amasie_. As much as I want to breed and mark you, we can go as slowly as you need for now.”

His lips reclaimed hers as he slowly sank into her. He swallowed her sharp intake of breath, was unfazed by the nails digging into his biceps, but stilled when she let out a quiet whine.

“Relax,” he breathed against her lips. “You can take me, _Amasie_. You’re built to.”

She buried her face against his shoulder, embarrassed to a point that the fire and fuzziness couldn’t quite combat. “But-”

The words died on her tongue. What if she couldn’t? What if she wasn’t? What if magic was wrong?

Leviathan growled low in his chest as he used one hand to change the angle of her hips. She gave a strangled cry when he sank the rest of the way inside her, his hips coming to rest flush against her own, with no resistance.

“Oh fuck, oh shit, oh fuck, oh shit, oh fuck” became her mantra. Her head swam with fuzz and fire as she tried, and failed, to stop shaking. Her muscles quivered around him as she tried to get used to the sensation of being stretched so thoroughly, so completely. It wasn’t helping that he seemed just as undone, twitching inside of her and pressing as close to her as he could. As if he could go deeper. As if she didn’t feel impaled as is. As if she didn’t feel like he could split her in two.

“How are you?” he asked roughly. He’d pressed his face into her neck as he rested heavily against her. He was heavy, but she’d never felt more comfortable. Secure. Protected.

Loved.

His breath was warm against her neck and made her shudder, which caused both of them to groan and clutch each other more tightly.

“Full’s certainly the word,” she murmured. “ _Fuck_.”

He purred a string of words against her throat that weren’t in English, but one or two sounded familiar.

“Latin,” she said breathlessly. “You speak Latin.”

“My mother tongue,” he affirmed, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to her throat. “I’m going to take you now, _mea Eoi_.”

She whimpered at the thought. “I don't think I can take it,” she told him. “I'll go mad, Leviathan.”

He shushed her, peppering the side of her face with kisses as he pulled back.  The noise that came from her throat was inhuman, but the sound she made when he thrust back inside of her was downright feral.

She was a wailing mess after his next full thrust, the fire in her veins stoked by every growl. Every twitch of his cock inside her. Every exhale against her skin.

His thrusts came faster. Shorter. Harder. And pressure built inside her until she couldn't tell if she was clenching him so tight it nearly hurt or if he'd somehow gotten larger inside of her, but it made her eyes roll. The Latin he whispered against her skin sounded like a plea, accented by the hand at her hip snaking down so he could brush his thumb over her clit once. Twice. Thrice.

On the fourth she began to shatter.

On the fifth her back arched off the bed, meeting him mid-thrust. Then she was certain he had grown somehow because he couldn't pull back as much as before and she swore he'd break her in two if he kept this up. Swore she couldn't take anymore. Swore and swore and-

On the sixth, he slammed into her. She felt his teeth graze her neck and the fire that had spread into her limbs bid her to bare it to him.

On the seventh, he sank his teeth into her neck and his cock into her cunt with a snarl that sent her over again.

On eight, he held still. But his cock was twitching, pulsing, spilling inside of her. Again and again and again until she could tell how full she was. And then more still.

Nine. Ten. Eleven. She writhed under him, oversensitive, full and growing fuller still, and overwhelmed.

Twelve. He said, “Again.”

Thirteen. She screamed into his shoulder as she shattered. Just like he'd asked her to.

Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. She was too full. His essence oozed out of her, thick and hot as it slid over her other hole and pooled on his towel.

Seventeen. His hand went back to her hip and held her still.

Leviathan trailed kisses from the indent of his teeth in her neck up to the shell of her ear. He worked his way down her jaw until he found her lips again. Their tongues played lazily.

“So…much…” she mumbled. “Is that a…a demon thing or…”

Leviathan hummed and she felt his lips curl into a smile. “It’s an _Uxor Lucifera_ thing,” he said. “All for you, _Amasie_. Only for you.”

“I don’t understand…” She felt herself frown.

He gave her one more firm kiss before propping himself up just enough to meet her eyes. Her cheeks tingled as she noted that he was still inside her, still spilling out of her. They’d have to change the sheets…she felt like she was laying in a puddle.

Not that she could bring herself to mind.

“Princes only knot for their brides,” he explained. “Only you could ever do this to me, _Amasie_. And only I…” he brushed their noses together, “...could ever fuck you like this.”

She hummed as he slowly withdrew from her, and shuddered at the heated look in his eyes as he watched his cock leave her. A mix of a growl and a purr left him as the rush of his essence, what she’d been able to hold, rushed out of her. She moaned, eyes fluttering closed, as it slid over her hole and added to the puddle spreading under her.

Hermione blinked her eyes back open when a ragged exhale left the man still half on top of her. His smoldering, almost awe-struck gaze was still southbound. Before she could shyly ask him just what it was he was doing, she felt his thumb brush over her _there_ and she gasped.

His eyes locked on hers, his head tilted in wonder. “Your past lovers…” he began slowly, “they never had you here, did they, _Delicium_?”

“No,” she admitted, cursing her voice for hitching up an octave. “Y-you won’t _fit_ , Leviathan…”

A wicked smile graced his lips. “Oh _yes I will_ …” he said, accenting his point by sliding his thumb into her ass.

The foreign sensation rocked through her as he slowly pumped in and out of her ass. Without warning, he withdrew, but she felt his fingers press into the towel.

She didn’t even manage to finish thinking ‘What are you doing?’ before two slick fingers pushed into her.

She whined, but he shushed her before she could tell him it was too much.

“You’re tensing,” he said. “Relax.”

“I can’t,” she whimpered. “Please, I don’t think-”

“ _Amasie_ ,” he said firmly, “you’re pulling. Push. It will feel good, I promise.”

“ _Push_?!” she sputtered, cheeks flushing. “But-Isn’t that…won’t I-”

He raised a brow at her. “Do as I say. Your body is a stranger to you. Let me teach you how it truly works.”

She covered her face with her hands but did as he asked. It took some level of effort and concentration, it felt wrong and dirty, but she managed to push just enough that the pain and pressure eased.

“Good girl,” he purred.

He pulled his fingers out slowly, eliciting a low moan from her. It was hard to focus on not tensing with foreign shudders of pleasure crawling up her spine.

Leviathan stopped with his fingers barely still inside of her. “Don’t tense,” he said, slowly pushing back inside.

She sucked in a breath, overwhelmed, and shuddered. Leviathan chuckled.

“When you’ve gotten used to it, you’ll be able to pull without hurting yourself. You’ll find a rhythm,” he told her. “Push, pull... In, out…” His fingers echoed his words.

Every few thrusts, he withdrew and dipped his fingers back in his cum before sliding them back inside her. She wasn’t sure how long they laid there before he added another finger and stretched her further, but by then she had her bearings. By then she’d relaxed.

“You like this,” he said. “My perfect _Amasie…_ It feels good, does it not?”

“It does,” she sighed.

He started fully withdrawing on every thrust, bringing fingerfuls of cooling cum and pushing them inside her. Toying with her. She laid her head back against the mattress with a quiet moan. When his fingers left and stayed away, she pouted.

“Push,” he said. “Do not think, you will tense. Just push. We’ll go slow.”

A rush of air left her when she felt the tip of his cock against her. A shiver of anxiety ran down her spine before Leviathan pushed one of her thighs back towards her chest and squeezed her. A warning.

“Push,” he ordered. “This is _mine_. I _will_ have you here. Push and be still. You’ll adjust.”

She did, despite the spike in her pulse that thrummed in her ears. Despite how much bigger his cock was compared to his fingers. And he pushed into her with ease. Thick and hot and throbbing. His knot was already growing, but despite how she winced when he pushed it inside her, she relaxed again after.

A low growl rumbled in his chest. “Mine, mine, mine,” he murmured.

He went slow, as promised, until she found her equilibrium again. She shuddered every time his knot passed in and out of her, stretching and swelling until he couldn’t pull out anymore.

He leaned down to kiss her as his pace picked up and she sighed into his mouth. In and out and in and out he pounded his hips against hers. Again and again until she was certain he’d make her fall apart. She wasn’t far. She just didn’t know what she needed to fall over the edge.

“Are you going to fill me up again?” she whispered against his lips.

He chuckled around a groan. “Yes, _Delicium_. Do you want it?”

She gave an affirmative whine and trailed her lips along the underside of his jaw.

Leviathan reached for her hands, threaded their fingers, and pinned them above her head. His eyes were glowing again, with magic and mischief that she didn’t understand until the hot, burning licks of his magic raced down her arms, down her sides, nestling at her clit and inside of her.

It felt like he was touching her, fucking her, but he wasn’t.

“You’re going to fall apart,” he said. “Once to make me burst inside you and once more for my amusement.”

He leaned down and took one of her nipples into his mouth as two more streams of magic came down to her breasts, igniting every nerve, including the ones he was already toying with.

His pace picked up again, his knot keeping his strokes short and rough. His magic matched the rhythm, too sweet, too hot, too much. Her back arched.

“Leviathan,” she gasped. “Please.”

“Now, _Amasie_ ,” he commanded. “ _Now!_ ”

Two more thrusts and she was lost.

Three more and she felt him go taut and start to spill inside her. But even though he stopped moving, his magic kept going.

_Once to make me burst inside you and once more for my amusement._

She was a sobbing, shaking mess by the time the next wave crashed into her.

And she was unconscious, exhausted, as Leviathan started pressing feather soft kisses against her cheek while whispering sweet Latin nothings against her skin.

He moved her gently, neither himself or his cock ready to pull out of her, until he could cuddle her from behind. He pulled her back against his chest and held her tightly, his knot still twitching to ‘ _fill her up_ ’, as she’d put it.

He’d wake her in a few moments. Carry her back into the shower, or maybe run them a bath and take her there as well… But for now, he would revel in her perfection and let her have her well-earned rest. She was _his_ now, as surely as he was hers.


End file.
